The night was heavy.
Not with mist, nor rain, but with an oppressive weight that settled over the crooked streets of Valemire like an ancient curse refusing to die. It was a town forgotten by kings, abandoned by priests, and ignored even by the scum that scurried through empire cities in search of coin and vice. Only those with nowhere else to go made homes here — the broken, the damned, and the dying.
Lucian Duskbane was all three.
He pulled his frayed coat tighter as the wind slithered between half-collapsed alleyways, carrying with it the stink of wet stone and rusted iron. His footsteps echoed dully, swallowed by the cracked cobblestones beneath his boots. He knew this part of the district well — not because it was home, but because it was the only place left that didn't spit on him when he passed.
In another life, perhaps he'd been a farmer, a soldier, or even a scholar. His mother had once said he had sharp eyes, the kind that noticed the things others missed. But those days were as dead as the sun in Valemire's eternally cloud-choked skies.
Now, he was a scavenger.
A nobody.
A name uttered by no one but himself.
Lucian.
---
He paused by the skeletal remains of a crumbled chapel. Its spire leaned at an impossible angle, its stones blackened by time and soot. A broken mural of a long-forgotten god clung desperately to the last intact wall, its face worn smooth by years of wind and apathy.
Funny. Even gods were abandoned here.
Lucian's stomach growled — a sharp, hollow pain that gnawed at him like a persistent rat. He hadn't eaten in two days. Not properly. A crust of bread, stolen from a careless vendor, had been his last victory. Now, all that remained was hunger and a stubbornness not to die. Not yet.
Something moved.
A flicker of shadow at the corner of his eye.
His hand instinctively went to the crude knife at his belt, though it was little more than a shard of iron bound in leather. He turned, muscles tensing. Nothing but empty streets, the thick night, and the suffocating quiet.
Yet he felt it.
A presence.
It wasn't the usual lurking filth of the slums. No, this was different — older, heavier, colder. Like being watched not by a man, but by the earth itself. A pressure settled in his chest, making the air seem too thick to breathe.
And then…
A whisper.
So faint it was almost imagined.
"Lucian…"
His heart seized.
No one knew his name here. No one cared. He spun toward the voice.
Nothing.
---
But the street ahead had changed.
Where once there'd been a dead-end — a wall of collapsed stone and old merchant carts — now stood a passageway, impossibly narrow, yawning like a throat cut into the darkness. He didn't remember it being there.
Didn't matter.
Something deeper than instinct told him to walk.
A choice most would refuse.
But Lucian was not most.
He stepped forward.
The passage swallowed him whole.
As Lucian stepped into the narrow corridor, the world behind him seemed to fold away. The broken streets, the biting wind, even the oppressive stench of decay — all of it vanished, replaced by a suffocating darkness so thick it clung to his skin like damp cloth.
His breath echoed unnaturally, the sound carrying further than it should've, like the walls were alive, listening.
He kept his knife drawn.
Each step forward was cautious, slow, his boots scraping against stone far smoother than any street in Valemire had a right to be. There were no torches, no light, and yet somehow he could see — vague outlines, glimmering dust motes, faint traces of ancient carvings along the corridor walls. Symbols older than language, looping shapes and jagged spirals, none of which made sense.
But his blood… it stirred.
A primal part of him recognized them.
They whispered of hunger.
Of immortality.
Of endless night.
Lucian shivered, though not from cold. His hunger gnawed more fiercely now, like something alive inside him had been awakened by this place.
He didn't know how long he walked.
Time ceased to exist here. The oppressive dark could have been minutes, hours, or days. His legs ached. His head throbbed. And just when he thought he would collapse—
A faint light.
Far ahead.
Pale and colorless, like moonlight reflected on still water.
Lucian moved toward it, faster now, a desperate need clawing at his chest.
---
The passage opened into a vast underground chamber.
He stepped through the threshold and gasped.
A cavernous hall stretched before him, impossibly large, its ceiling lost in shadows. At its center stood a towering stone monument — an altar, ancient and cracked with age, upon which a body lay.
Not a corpse.
Not yet.
The figure was shrouded in faded crimson robes, skin like porcelain untouched by decay. White hair fanned out across the stone like threads of silver, and though the body was still, it radiated a terrible presence.
Lucian could barely breathe.
This… thing… was no man.
Not a beast.
Something else entirely.
A predator.
An ancient force frozen in time.
At the foot of the altar, etched deep into the stone floor, a single word glowed faintly with ghostly light:
DUSKBAINE.
His heart stopped.
His name.
Not just similar — exact.
Down to the last letter.
---
A voice, deeper than the earth and colder than death, spoke.
"Blood… of my blood."
Lucian staggered back, knife raised, though he knew it was useless.
The figure on the altar did not move, but the air itself shivered, the dust in the chamber swirling, thickening, becoming a storm of whispered words in a tongue too old for his ears.
A single droplet of dark crimson formed in the air above the corpse's heart.
It floated, trembling.
And then it moved.
Rushing toward Lucian.
Before he could scream, it struck his chest like a hammer blow, searing into his flesh, burrowing into his very soul.
Pain unlike anything he'd known tore through him.
Fire and ice.
Agony and rapture.
Lucian collapsed, the world dissolving into darkness, his last conscious thought a single, ancient word that did not belong to him.
Ascend.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
Lucian didn't know how long he drifted in that formless void — seconds, minutes, or perhaps lifetimes. There was no light, no sound, no pain. Only a pulsing warmth that spread through his veins like liquid fire, setting every nerve alight.
Memories surfaced.
His mother's face, kind yet weary, eyes heavy with sorrow.
The cold stone streets where he'd begged.
The bloodied fists of drunkards.
The searing pain of hunger.
But something new had joined them. A force ancient and terrible, older than mountains, older than death. It wound itself through his memories like a serpent, devouring and reshaping them.
He felt his heart stutter, seize, and then…
Stop.
For the briefest, most agonizing moment, Lucian was certain he was dead. His body felt weightless, his mind detached. And then — a cold, unnatural surge. A single, thunderous beat. Not of flesh, but something darker.
A crimson echo.
He opened his eyes.
---
The chamber had changed.
Colors were sharper now, edges too vivid. Shadows bled and danced like living things. His senses screamed with unbearable clarity — he could hear the distant drip of water on stone, taste the metallic tang of ancient air, and feel the heat of lifeless rock beneath him.
And hunger.
An all-consuming, endless hunger.
It clawed at him, not the hunger of a starving man, but of something else. Something that needed more than bread or meat. It was primal. Violent.
Blood.
Lucian's hand trembled as he touched his chest. The skin was unmarked, yet beneath it, he could feel the alien beat of a heart that was no longer entirely his own.
His gaze drifted to the altar.
The ancient corpse — gone.
Only dust remained, scattered like ash in the still air.
But the word still glowed upon the stone floor:
DUSKBAINE.
A name passed down.
Or a title claimed.
He didn't know.
Didn't care.
Something deep within him had changed, and whatever he had been, whoever Lucian was, felt like a half-forgotten shadow.
He wasn't human anymore.
---
A sound.
Faint, but piercing.
Footsteps.
Someone was coming.
Lucian turned toward the passage. His hand instinctively gripped the knife at his belt — but now it felt… different. Lighter. Smaller. As though his own strength had outgrown it.
A figure emerged from the shadows.
Tall. Cloaked in darkness. A face obscured by a veil of ancient fabric, yet the gleam of otherworldly eyes shone through.
A voice spoke.
Soft, cold, and cruel.
"So… you survived."
Lucian's lips parted.
His voice, when it came, was rough — like unused stone.
"What… am I?"
The figure tilted its head.
"A fledgling. Born not of turning, but of legacy. A cursed bloodline reignited after centuries of silence."
"The Duskbane name returns."
---
Lucian's mind reeled.
Questions warred with terror and instinct.
Why him?
What legacy?
What curse?
But one truth sang louder than the rest.
He was stronger.
He was alive.
And he would never crawl in the filth again.
Whatever this power was — however monstrous — it was his now.
And he would use it.
The figure moved closer.
Each step silent as a falling feather, yet carrying the weight of centuries. Lucian could feel it — the immense presence this being exuded. It wasn't human, not entirely. It was something old, something forgotten by time, and yet it recognized him, as though expecting his arrival.
"Do you feel it?" the figure murmured, voice like ice scraping glass.
"The pulse of eternity in your veins?"
Lucian swallowed, every sense screaming at him to run — but his feet remained planted. His hunger surged again, overwhelming, clawing at his gut like a wild animal.
"I… feel everything," Lucian rasped.
The figure extended a pale, slender hand, palm up.
"Then embrace it. The life you knew is ash. The world you knew is no longer yours. Blood will be your path. Power your right. And through shadow… you will rise."
Lucian stared at that hand, hesitation clawing at the last fragile remnants of the boy he'd been.
The street rat.
The beggar.
The orphan.
And then he let it go.
With trembling fingers, he grasped the figure's hand. The touch was cold — colder than death — and yet it sparked something alive inside him. A connection. A chain forged of ancient blood and new hunger.
"Good," the figure whispered.
It stepped aside, gesturing toward the altar.
"Name yourself."
Lucian's lips cracked into a grim smile, a strange heat filling his chest despite the cold that surrounded him.
"I am Lucian Duskbane."
The name echoed in the vast chamber, its weight undeniable.
Something unseen shifted, like the room itself acknowledged it. The word carved into the stone blazed one final time before fading into nothingness.
The figure nodded.
"So begins your ascent."
---
Without warning, the figure vanished — dissipating into mist.
Lucian staggered, his senses overloading again. The world was sharper, clearer, like a veil had been torn away. He could hear faint heartbeats in the distance — above, through layers of earth and stone. Taste the old, stale blood lingering in the air. Feel the vibrations of distant footsteps.
His instincts surged.
He wasn't meant to cower anymore.
He was meant to hunt.
To rule.
To ascend.
The hunger gnawed mercilessly, demanding to be fed. And he knew — no bread or water would satisfy this craving.
Only blood.
Lucian looked down at his trembling hands.
His old life was gone.
And in its place stood something reborn.
---
A distant scream echoed from somewhere above.
A terrified cry, short and desperate, punctuated by the cruel laughter of men.
Lucian's eyes narrowed, his body moving of its own accord. His legs no longer felt heavy, his steps silent, predatory. He followed the sound through winding tunnels, his senses guiding him like he'd done this a hundred times before.
He burst into the night, beneath a sky heavy with storm clouds.
In the distance, a group of men — drunken, cruel, faces twisted in leering grins — circled a lone figure.
A girl.
Small. Shivering.
Lucian's heart thudded, but not from pity. The old Lucian might've cowered, begged, or turned away.
The new Lucian… hungered.
And these men…
They would be his first.
Lucian's body moved with an unnatural swiftness, his feet barely touching the earth as he sprinted toward the group. His senses were heightened beyond human capability, every detail in his surroundings clear and sharp. The soft scrape of boots against dirt. The chilling scent of sweat and blood. The flicker of torchlight casting grotesque shadows on the stone walls.
The men hadn't noticed him yet. They were too focused on the girl, too drunk with their own cruelty.
Lucian's mouth watered.
He didn't hesitate. He leapt forward with an inhuman grace, a blur of motion. The nearest man never saw it coming. Lucian's hand clamped around his throat before the man could even react, lifting him off the ground effortlessly. The man's eyes bulged in panic as he gasped for breath, but Lucian tightened his grip, his fingers burning with an icy power.
"Please! No—" the man stuttered, but Lucian's cold gaze held him in place.
With a swift motion, Lucian threw the man to the ground. The others spun around in shock, their drunken minds struggling to make sense of the situation. But before they could react, Lucian was upon them. His movements were fluid, predatory. He tore through them with savage precision, each strike faster than the last.
The last man, the leader of the group, stumbled back in fear. His eyes flickered between the carnage around him and Lucian's glowing red eyes.
"W-what the hell are you?" the leader gasped.
Lucian's lips curled into a predatory grin.
"I am your end."
With that, Lucian descended on him.
The man's scream was swallowed by the night.
When it was over, Lucian stood amidst the fallen bodies, his chest heaving with unspent energy. He could still feel the raw power coursing through him, feeding him, strengthening him. His senses hummed, heightened beyond human limits.
The girl stood frozen in place, her wide eyes locked onto him. She trembled, but there was no terror in her gaze, only awe.
Lucian slowly turned toward her, the hunger still gnawing at his insides. He didn't need to ask for permission. He was beyond that now. The bloodlust was too powerful, too intoxicating. It pulsed in his veins, urging him to claim what was his.
But as he took a step forward, something in the girl's eyes stopped him.
A flicker of recognition.
Fear.
But not for herself.
Lucian hesitated. A strange feeling tugged at his chest. She wasn't the prey. Not yet.
She was something else.
Slowly, he lowered his gaze to her, a quiet growl escaping his throat as the hunger subsided, if only momentarily.
"You…" he began, his voice like gravel. "You're not like them."
The girl swallowed, taking a shaky step backward, but she didn't flee. "Who… who are you?"
Lucian's eyes gleamed. The full weight of what had happened, of who he had become, settled in his chest like a heavy stone.
"I am Lucian Duskbane."
---
The words seemed to hang in the air, heavy with meaning. The girl's expression flickered. She was clearly struggling to understand, her brow furrowed in confusion.
"I… I don't understand. You're… not human, are you?"
Lucian stepped forward, his presence commanding. The hunger still churned within him, but there was something else now — a connection. The girl's eyes were filled with a strange mixture of fear, curiosity, and something else he couldn't quite place.
"No," Lucian replied, his voice filled with a dark certainty. "I'm something far worse."
His eyes flicked to the bodies around him, then back to her.
And as his gaze softened, a small, cruel smile played on his lips.
"But in time, you will understand. If you survive long enough."